The Needle and the Damage Done
by Swasson
Summary: Roger is back from rehab, and the entire situation has taken a toll on his relationship with not only Mark, but everyone else he loves. Eventual slash.
1. How Does it Feel

_A/N: Credit to the-fraulein for two lines of "Why Does Distance Make Us Wise?" They inspired the entire story._

_I see the needle and the damage done. A little part of it in everyone. Every junkie's like a setting sun. -Neil Young  
_

"Collins and Benny are gone. You have your own room now."

His own room? Collins and Benny, gone? Roger doesn't understand what Mark means. "Collins and Benny are…gone? Like…how?" It's as if he's speaking a language he doesn't understand. It's almost as if Mark is speaking a language he'll never understand. He doesn't understand anything. Rehab changed him. He's forgotten everything.

"Collins is at MIT. He got a really good teaching job. And Benny got married."

Roger doesn't bother letting the information process any farther. He figures that he'll never understand. They only thing he can bother processing right now is how much he wants a bag of heroin. He wants nothing more than to be locked in his room with a needle, a candle, a spoon and a bag of white powder right now. He wants to feel the drug rush through his broken veins. He probably doesn't even have any veins left, but he'd find some. He'd find at least one. Mark wouldn't be bothering him. His heart wouldn't be aching for the filmmaker. His heart wouldn't be burning and needing him almost more than the drug. The intense feeling of want and need was coursing through him. It was almost hurting him.

"Roger?"

"Don't."

"I didn't."

"So don't ever."

"I wasn't."

He sighed. Roger sighed. He always seemed to be sighing. There was always something wrong. Roger didn't like it. He looked around the loft, his ice green eyes surveying and judging everything they saw. The walls were dirty. The floor was disgusting. It was cold. The hospital was more hospitable than this place was, even though he'd been longing to be back here since the day he was admitted into rehab. He had been longing for the comfort of his own bed and the satisfaction of waking up and hearing Mark and Benny fighting, and hearing Collins' big, booming laugh. He wanted the comfort of Collins' big, safe arms and the fun of pissing Benny off and the love that Mark gave him. Now, Roger felt as if he had nothing. The safety of Collins was gone. The fun of Benny was gone. And Mark didn't love him anymore.

"How does it feel?" Mark asked gently. "To, you know…be clean? It's been about a month, now. I'm really proud of you, Roger."

Roger? His name was Roger? He shrugged. "I don't know." His own voice sounded so foreign to him. He didn't like it. He wanted so badly to go back to the day he left and stop himself from leaving like Mark couldn't. "It feels like I don't know anything anymore. It's like I have to start over."

"Well, it is, Rog."

"Don't call me Rog. You know I never liked that nickname."

Mark smirks. "Same old Roger, I guess."

"I wish, Mark. I don't know anything anymore. I don't know me or you. Where is Collins, again?"

Mark crosses to the couch slowly and sits. It's almost as if he's moving slowly so he doesn't upset Roger. "I told you. Collins got a job in Massachusetts. He said he'd be back by Christmas definitely. Before then, he's not sure. He said he was going to try and visit. He has a new boyfriend, now. His name is Todd."

"That's great." Roger tries to smile but it looks more like a wince. "I'm going to go lie down."

"Okay, Roger. Just call me if you need anything. I-I'm here for you. You can trust me."

Could he? That was the first mention of that word between them in so long. Roger didn't know if he could ever trust Mark again, especially after what happened. If anyone should have trouble trusting anyone, it should probably be Mark. After all, Roger was the one that fled to New York. Roger was the one that fucked everything up.


	2. Don't Lead Me On, Mark

_A/N: I know that my writing jumps from past to present tense often and I apologize for that. I happen to like it that way. I tried writing this chapter entirely in both tenses, separately, and I didn't like it. Thank you for reviewing and alerting. Be aware, slash is present in this chapter._

_I see the needle and the damage done. A little part of it in everyone. Every junkie's like a setting sun. -Neil Young_

It feels like someone is hitting his head against a rock. It's not enough that he's already bleeding and nearly dead, they want him all the way dead so they don't stop. He loves the feeling of being clean and clear from drugs, but so much of him wants to go back to it. He wants so badly to get wrapped up in the comforting blanket of heroin. He wants to feel the warmth of the drug coursing through his body. All he feels in his veins right now is blood and HIV. It feels nothing like heroin. Why is getting clean supposed to make him feel better? He has felt worse since he got off of the drug, not better. He hasn't woken up once in almost three months and not wanted to die since he stopped shooting up. He feels as if he has no reason to live.

Roger rolled over onto his stomach, blinking quickly so that his eyes will adjust to the brightness inside of his bedroom. He hates the sun. It's September. Why the fuck is it sunny? Shouldn't it be snowing? Shouldn't it be raining or hailing or something that doesn't require the sun? He knows what the weather should be like this time of year (ball busting hot), but that doesn't mean he appreciates the sun. He doesn't. He wishes everything were black and dark and dull, like he feels.

He rises from the bed and gets dressed for the day, though it doesn't matter if he's dressed or not. He isn't going outside. He isn't going anywhere. No one is coming to see him. No one is going to take him anywhere.

Mark is knocking on the door. "Come in." Who else would be knocking on his door, especially so fucking early?

He does come in, slowly and cautiously. "Hey, how are you this morning?" His voice is thin and quiet, and it's as if he doesn't want to contaminate the air in the room with his breath so he speaks softly, thinking it will somehow help. It doesn't really.

"Like shit."

Mark's eyes dart directly to the pale skin of his best friend and ex-lover. He studies it carefully from afar. Roger is so thin now, too thin. He's probably skinnier than Mark. The filmmaker studied the sudden dips and crevasses that made up what was left of Roger's abs, and he studied the curve of his back. He remembered doing this when they were in high school, after alone time and in Roger's childhood bed or in Mark's. He wishes they could do that now. He walks into the room all the way and gently, gently places his hand on Roger's back, his fingertips dancing lightly on the skin. He sucked in a quick breath upon feeling Mark's hand on his skin.

"Mark," he whispered, almost pleadingly. He wanted him to stop. If they started, they'd really never stop. "Mark, please…"

"What?" He pressed his palm fully against him and moved his hand down to Roger's waist. "Roger, please don't push me away."

"What about Maureen?" That stopped Mark dead in his tracks. Roger could feel it. "What about her, Mark? Are you going to do to her what you did to me?"

Mark put both of his hands on Roger's waist now. Apparently, he was. He pulled Roger flush against him, his bare back pressed into the soft fabric of Mark's shirt. He gently pressed a kiss to his shoulder. "Roger, I'm sorry."

"Don't lead me on, Mark. Please."

"I'm not leading you on." He kissed him again.

"Yes, you are!" So why wasn't he pulling away? Did he not have the strength to walk away? No, he didn't have the mental strength to walk away from it. "You…" Roger wanted to cry, which was something he didn't do. Ever. "Marky, please don't do this to me. Not now."

Mark rested his head against the shoulder now. "I said I was sorry. Why can't you let me love you?"

"Because you don't love me. You told me yourself. You love Maureen." Roger took it upon himself to end the contact. He roughly pulled his shirt over his head and stepped out of Mark's arms. "You broke me once… I can't let it happen again. Not now…not when everything is so...fucked; so fragile. I can't do it."

"I understand."

"You know," he said, laughing bitterly, "I don't think you do." He turned to face his friend. "I don't think you do," he repeated. "And I wish you did. You're only thinking of yourself, you know, when you do that? You're only thinking of yourself and for once I want you to think about me."

"I will!" Mark was quick to protest. "Roger, I get it! I understand! I hurt you, and I hurt you bad, and I know that. And…and now I'm with Maureen. She can't hurt me. Trust me, she's tried. Do you have any idea how many times she's thrown you in my face when we have problems with our relationship? 'You'd let Roger do that' or 'Roger never did that to you, why are you doing it to me?!' I'm sick of her bullshit."

"So walk away from it!"

"I can't! I love her!"

"So why the fuck are we even having this conversation, Mark?!" Roger's voice was getting dangerously loud. "Why?! God…Damnit! I'm so sick of this!"

"Sick of what?!"

"I'm sick of you!" He didn't mean that. "I'm sick of everything you're putting me through!" It was completely baffling that someone as sweet and innocent-looking as Mark could cause as much destruction as he had. "I just want to erase everything, you know?"

He nodded. "I want to, too. I want to…I want to forget everything I did. I want to make it so it never happened. I regret ever hurting you, you know."

"Whatever. I'm done having this conversation. Do we have any money?"

Mark got nervous. "What? Why? Y-you're not…you're not goi-"

"Fuck off, Mark. I want to get food! I'm hungry! Last time I checked we had none!"

"I went shopping yesterday while you slept. I'd rather you not go out alone anyway." Eh, it was understandable. Roger didn't jump down his throat like he had been doing lately. "Besides, it's too hot to go anywhere."

"It's too hot to do anything." It was silent for a moment. "Mark?"

"What?" He looked up and the two men locked eyes for the first time in months.

"I still love you."

"I know, Roger."

"So why are you torturing me?"

"Because I still love you, too. I-I still want us to be together."

He shook his head. "I don't think we can be. I don't want to be. I just want to be me for a while, just me; just Roger. Besides, you're with Maureen. I have to start over, Mark."

Mark nodded. "I know, Roger. Does this mean we're not anything? Not even friends?"

"I could never not be your friend, you stupid fucker."

The filmmaker laughed. "Same Roger. You're still in there somewhere."


	3. Concentrate on Physics

_I see the needle and the damage done. A little part of it in everyone. Every junkie's like a setting sun. -Neil Young_

It's all in how you perceive something. It's all how you personally see the world. Mark sees a whale. He also sees a clever fox. He might also see the Stonehenge, but it's a ceiling. None of those things are really there. They're only imagined pictures on the stucco ceiling of an old Suburban home in Scarsdale, New York.

Scarsdale: a village government, one of several villages in the state of New York. The population is roughly 14,453 people. Maybe. Probably. Average highs in June are 74 and average lows in December are 26. Eighty-four percent of the people that live in Scarsdale are white. Mark attended Quaker Ridge elementary school, Scarsdale Middle school and now he's a junior at Scarsdale High School. It's a…nice place to live, you could say. All the houses looked the same. You could compare any television show about high-schoolers to any day here in Scarsdale. The same shit happened on those TV shows that happened in Mark, Roger, Maureen and Collins' lives.

Now Mark sees a pregnant woman. He doesn't know how his mind formed a whale and a pregnant woman, but still. That's what he sees.

"What do you see?"

"Excuse me?"

"Look, up at the ceiling, the stucco. You can kind of make out pictures. You can…see stuff."

Collins looked up at the white wall. "What the fuck are you smoking, Mark? What kinda shit is Roger givin' you? No, wait, Maureen is givin' you stuff now, huh?" He laughed.

"No, Collins! I'm serious! Look! If you look, right there," he said, pointing to a cluster of pointy things, "you can see a pregnant woman."

"You need help."

"No, I don't need help. You need to listen to me! I'm serious!"

Collins closed his physics book and leaned back against the couch so he could better see the ceiling. "Okay, WHAT am I looking for?"

"That cluster, right there. Doesn't it look like a pregnant woman?"

Collins was silent for a few moments. "Aww, I see a puppy!" See? Told you it's all about perception.

"UGH. It's so crazy. You see a dog; I see a whale, a fox and a pregnant woman. It's fascinating. Where's Roger?"

"Out with Amanda," he said, fixated on the dog.

Mark rolled his eyes. "Out…with Amanda." He punctuated her name with heated venom.

"Ooooh, Marky's jealous!!"

Mark cocked an eyebrow. "Are you high?"

"Little bit. I can only concentrate on physics when I am. Why do you hate Amanda all of the sudden? Is it because of what you told me about Roger? Bro, face it: Roger's straight as the day is long. Get with Mo and get over it. It ain't happenin'." Collins put his books back into his backpack and lounged on the big, white, fluffy couch, putting his feet on the coffee table in front of him.

"God love you, Collins, but you can be a dick sometimes. And I said the same thing about half of the guys you've slept with, but that didn't stop you from sleeping with them."

He laughed that booming laugh of his that brought joy to so many people. "What can I say? I'm a MAN MAGNET. Everyone's straight until proven gay, Mark, and there aren't straight men out there…only men who haven't met Tom Collins, yet!" He giggled. "My newest conquest is Robert Witten, 5th period physics. Damn, that boy is fine. Hey, do you want me to turn Roger gay fo-"

"NO. No! I do not want you to turn Roger gay for me! I'm perfectly capable of doing that on my own! And I don't WANT to turn Roger gay! He's not gay and neither am I!"

"Right, right, you're not gay. I forgot. You're just curious and attracted to Roger. That's okay. Who isn't, though? Boy is sexy. All that hair, like golden silk."

"Are you sure you're not the one that likes Roger?"

"Nope, I'm sure. You can have him. That whole rocker thing isn't my type."

"You have a type now? I thought your type was breathing."

"Oh, Mark! That hurt!"

"What?! You're a slut!"

"I am NOT a slut, Mark Cohen. I am EASY. There is a difference! If I were a slut I'd have sex with EVERYONE! But I am gay. Strictly dickly."

"Strictly dickly?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I just came up with it. You think it'll catch on?"

"Not a chance."

"We'll see!"

Mark sighed softly. "You know, just once I wish Roger would hang out with us instead of fuck whatever shakes their boobs in front of him. It's like he's forgotten about us!"

"Well, Roger is kind of famous now, with his band or whatever. He has tail chasing him day and night. Who wouldn't abuse that a little bit?"

"You certainly would. Hell, even I would. I guess you're right."

Collins sighed a knowing sigh. "Look, Mark, I've got this whole philosophy that if something is meant to happen, it'll happen. Just give it some time, okay?"

"I think if you want something to happen, you should go out and make it happen."

It was all about perception.


	4. A Mile Above

_A/N: I'm extremely interested I knowing what you think of the story. Please review. It's disheartening writing a story you think no one is reading._

_**Chapter Four: A Mile Above**_

_I see the needle and the damage done.  
A little part of it in everyone.  
Every junkie's like a setting sun.  
-Neil Young_

He felt like he was a mile above Scarsdale, balanced on the wind's forward edge. In reality, he was sitting upon a bed of crabgrass, white and yellow dandelions sprinkled around him, among some other various weeds. He took a deep and cleansing breath, washing away all of the horrible things that had been thrust upon him the last few years. The breath exits his mouth, and it mixes with the smoke from his cigarette, the burning end of the white stick getting nearer and nearer to his fingers. The stick is simply resting there; he has only taken one drag of it since he lit it. It's really only lit for the smell. He loves the smell of a burning cigarette more than he likes the taste of it, and he also feels the smell of nicotine on his person makes him come off as more of a badass. It helps his image.

His emerald green eyes scan the grassy knoll. He watches butterflies flutter around, smirking as he remembers what his older brother used to tell him: "Butterflies used to be called flutterbies." It makes sense.

God, how desperately Roger wishes Mark were here with him to take in this beautiful sight. He's never seen Scarsdale looking this beautiful before, and he knew that if anyone would really appreciate this, it would be Mark Cohen. Unfortunately, his wishes for his companion won't be answered today. He ditched the graduation party to come here and relax. He couldn't be around all of those people, not today, not ever, which is weird. Roger liked performing because he loved the social aspect of it, but he hated being around mass crowds of people with no escape. It's different when he's onstage. He wishes he had invited Mark.

Mark… Roger sighed. He loved Mark, he always had, but lately he'd been starting to finally understand that he was IN love with him, which was something he certainly could not deal with, not ever. He couldn't go around with that gay...stigma attached to him. He didn't want to approach those feelings. He was afraid to.

Roger gently hit his head against the ground a few times, hoping that would clear his mind, but it just made his head hurt. He chewed on his lips, deep in thought about his life and about Mark. Roger was a terrible reclusive person, and kept most of his feelings inside. He didn't enjoy talking about how he felt, which left a lot of people frustrated when they had problems with him. He always felt that he was a nuisance, so when Mark and Roger had their annual fights about how they needed rework their friendship or else they couldn't be friends anymore, Roger would sit and take it while Mark yelled at him about all the things he was doing wrong. Astrologically speaking, a Mark and Roger ANYTHING relationship was doomed from the start. Mark and Roger were a Scorpio and Gemini relationship, respectively, and not that Roger really believed in horoscopes, but those signs were endlessly incompatible. Those signs were practically a, "Let me count the ways," if you will.

With a heavy sigh, he picked himself up and took a long, final drag of the cigarette before putting it out on the bottom side of his boot. He didn't want to further damage the area with the cigarette butt so he put it back into the box and then stashed that into his backpack.

"Roger?"

He jumped and whirled around to face the voice. He felt himself grinning widely. "Mark! Mark, how did you find me?! Why are you here?!"

"You came here when your mom died. I figured that you'd be here rather than anywhere on a day like today." Mark grinned and stepped forward, taking his cap off and sitting next to his best friend. The sexual tension could be felt immediately, but neither boy could really understand what that meant. "So, um…why'd you take off? Maureen's parents are letting her throw a huge party. No alcohol, but Collins said he would try and score some-"

"Mark, I'm scared."

"Wait, what? Why? _You're_ scared?! Of what?"

He sighed, running his hands through that long, shaggy blonde hair. It really was like golden silk, like Collins had said. "I'm scared of myself; of what's going to happen. You're going off to Brown, and I'm going to be stuck here."

"Collins will be here," Mark replied, putting a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. "Maureen will be here. I thought you were going to New York with the Hungarians?"

"Well, I-I want to, but what if it doesn't work out? What if I end up homeless or…dead? What if we won't be friends anymore? I can't lose you, Mark, I-I…" He put his hand on Mark's knee. Mark felt an electric shock of something when Roger's hand touched him. It felt wonderful. "I love you so much. I truly care about you. I know I'm only 17 and I don't know shit about anything, but…still. I care about you." Roger's voice was wavering, ready to crack any second.

Mark had never seen Roger so scared before. It was jarring. "Hey, Roger…come-come here." He held his arms open and Roger gladly accepted the hug, wrapping his arms around Mark tenderly. He buried his face into the crook of Mark's neck and inhaled deeply. He smelled like honey. It was delicious. Before he really knew what he was doing, he pressed his lips to Mark's neck, kissing him gently.

Mark gasped. "R-Roger, what are you doing?"

"Mark, I…I'm in love with you."

He pulled away and looked Roger in the eyes. "Tell me to my face, Roger!"

Roger suddenly looked very scared. "I-I love you, Mark. I'm in love wi-" Mark cut him off by crashing his lips onto his. It almost hurt, because their teeth and lips crashed onto each other's so forcefully, but both boys fully returned the kiss with much needed passion. It was a beautiful kiss.

Roger pulled away, his breathing quick. He could not catch his breath. "Wow…"

"You couldn't have told me this BEFORE the summer I'm supposed to leave for Brown?!" Mark laughed and kissed him again. "I am so deeply in love with you, Roger…"

He grinned, placing another kiss upon Mark's lips. "I love you, too, but…"

"But what?"

"I'm scared."

"Come on, Roger, you'll always be scared. But, I'll try my hardest to make you feel better."

Roger looked deeply into Mark's eyes and quickly pulled away. "I have to go home." He gathered up his things and ran away before Mark was able to stop him or say anything.


End file.
